


Marvel Miscellany

by shadowen



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: #coulsonlives, Best Friends, Drabble Collection, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, F/M, Family, Femslash February, Fluff, Gen, Gen Fic, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fic, SHIELD Husbands, Teambuilding, Threesome - F/M/M, ororoverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 12,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of miscellaneous MCU drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. for Sabinelagrande: Phil needs to relax, Steve helps

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a place to put all the little orphan fics. Feel free to drop prompts in the comments [or on my tumblr](http://shadowen.tumblr.com/ask).

The worst part of being injured, Phil has decided, is the recovery process.

Physical therapy leaves him exhausted in a way he hasn’t been since boot camp, and the muscles in his chest and shoulders are one big, aching knot. He will gladly get stabbed by a dozen magic spears and die a happy man if it means he never has to see another resistance band for the rest of his life.

He’s trying to find the least objectionable position on the couch, when Captain Rogers comes into the common area carrying a basket of laundry.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry,” Rogers stammers. “I didn’t…. I thought that….”

Phil sighs. “I thought everyone was gone, too.”

“I was just doing some laundry. Don’t suppose you’d mind a little company?” He hefts the basket and smiles that patented Captain America smile that is somehow both abashed and beaming and makes Phil feel like a fumbling teenage boy with a crush on the quarterback.

He reminds himself that he is, in fact, an adult, a highly trained professional, and an agent of SHIELD and replies calmly, “Not at all, Captain. I’d be delighted.”

He shifts to make room on the couch and gives an involuntary hiss of pain as his overtaxed muscles express their displeasure. Immediately, Rogers is beside him, laying a steadying hand gently on his shoulder.

“Easy there, soldier.”

At some point in the aftermath of saving the world, Rogers had decided that Phil was one of his people, his soldiers, his Avengers and had taken to acting accordingly. Phil smiles wryly to mask the overwhelming awe that stirs in him. “Must’ve overdone it in the gym.”

“I’ll say,” Rogers agrees, frowning. “You’re knotted up tighter than a kid’s shoelaces.” He presses his thumb into the spot right above the shoulder blade, and Phil gasps. The look Rogers gives him is almost apologetic. Almost. “Want me to try and work that out for you?”

“You… don’t have to do that,” Phil says because Captain America, his childhood idol and the star of every last one of his teenage fantasies, did not just offer to give him a back rub.

Rogers just smiles that hero’s smile and settles in next to him, setting his big hands on Phils shoulders. “It’d be my pleasure. Really,” he insists. “If you don’t mind?”

In his time with SHIELD, Phil has learned that, alongside all the strange horrors in the universe, there are, occassionally, wonderful moments of unexpected peace.

“I suppose not. Thank you.”

Rogers’s fingers are sure and strong, zeroing in on the hard knots of of pain and soothing them away. Slowly, inch by inch, Phil relaxes into the touch and lets his captain take care of him.


	2. for Desi: Tony replaces everything in Clint's room with a giant bird's nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://shadowen.tumblr.com/post/26423130559/montselovesfood-captainshenanigans) on Tumblr.

“Un-fucking-believable.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just watches Clint circle the - there’s no point in calling it anything other than what it is - _giant bird’s nest_ that has taken over the center of his room. She’s wearing an expression that, to anyone else, would look placid and serene. He knows she’s trying desperately not to laugh.

“That son of…. Where did he even _get_ this?”

The thing is massive, polished wooden beams piled together to look like twigs, and the inside has big cushions scattered at random. Clint’s few posessions are tucked into a variety of nooks and shelves, along with a number of books, tools, and things resembling computers that he assumes are “gifts” from Stark.

“He touched my stuff, ‘Tasha! He _moved_ my stuff. And oh my god is that a fucking _feather?_ ”

Sure enough, there is a decorative screen attached to the inside wall in the exact shape and color of an hilariously oversized hawk feather. This is, of course, just extra insult on top of the swinging trapeze suspended over the middle of everything.

“Does he think this is clever? Seriously? _I am not a fucking bird, you asshole!_ ”

Finally, Natasha’s cool breaks, and she starts to snicker, clearly enjoying this way too much. “At least he didn’t line the floor with newspaper.”

Clint shoots her a withering look, but she just smiles back. “I’m gonna kill him,” Clint says. “I’m gonna put birdshit in his cereal and paint wings on that goddamn suit. I’m gonna….” He stops. Natasha is still laughing wickedly. “No. No, I have a better idea.”

Later, predictably, Stark stops by to “see how Clint’s settling in”, and Clint decides that it is absolutely, completely worth the indignity to see the look on Stark’s face when he finds Clint perched - yes, _perched_ \- on the trapeze bar.

“So how do you like the new digs?” Stark asks with just the slightest hesitation.

Clint smiles down at him and replies happily, “Caw caw, motherfucker.”


	3. for leiascully: Clint/Coulson, rain

Clint loved and hated rain with all his being. It obscured his vision, made his hearing aids useless, masked all the smells around him, and beat against his skin so that his movements felt strange and stilted. On a mission, it was the worst. He’d had to wait out storms, stuck in a perch because he couldn’t see his target or couldn’t hear his orders. A long, wet night in Hong Kong had once led to a long, miserable week of pneumonia. Not an experience he was anxious to repeat.

Between missions, though, he welcomed rain. He would climb to the roof during summer storms and sit, letting the heavy drops mute his senses and strip away the sharp awareness. He let it turn him off and take from him all the things that made him so very good at his job. Underneath all the skills and training and breathtaking aim, he was still a person, a good man at heart who had learned to be a hero, and not just a gun in the hands of SHIELD. They could point him where they liked, but nobody could pull his trigger except him.

Phil would find him, up here in the rain, and sit next to him for as long as it took Clint to get back to himself. Many a good suit suffered terribly in those storms, but Phil never said a word. He just sat there, waiting, and if that wasn’t love, then Clint didn’t know what was.


	4. for Sabinelagrande: Clint and Phil. Hot tub.

“It’s just completely unsanitary.”

“Jesus. _Fine_. All you had to say was ‘no’.”

“I didn’t mean ‘no’. I just meant ‘not here’.”

“Why the hell not? We’re alone. We’re naked. I’m pretty sure step three here is ‘profit’.”

“Do you have any idea what kinds of bacteria live in these things?”

“Oh my god. _Only you_.”

“Excuse me for being concerned about your health.”

“I offered to suck your cock! I didn’t say I was gonna drink the whole hot tub.”

“And I suggested we find a better location.”

“You made a face! You _gagged!_ ”

“Oh, for the love of…. Fine. Get over here.”

“No.”

“Clint.”

“Nope. Moment’s over. you ruined it.”

“Clinton Francis Barton, you get your smart mouth over here and put it to use, or so help me you will be sleeping on base for the next week.”

“…Yes, sir.”

“And don’t expect any sympathy from me when you get laryngitis.”

“Yes, sir.”


	5. for jade_equirrel: Clint/Natasha, Budapest

A pink and yellow VW bus. That was all that stood between the two of them and the advancing line of mechanized soldiers. The rest of their team was down, their comms were being jammed, and they had maybe five minutes before the bomb planted in the museum basement went off.

“Arrows?”

“Four. Bullets?”

Natasha slid home her last clip and gave Clint a grim look. He grinned back at her.

“Piece of cake.” He pulled another arrow. “Mm. Cake. We should get cake. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting.”

“From that bakery in Bruges,” Natasha agreed. “You remember?”

“The one with the cat in the window.”

“My treat.”

He gave her that brash smile again, and she grabbed his collar, pulling him in for a kiss. The shaft of his nocked arrow dragged along her hip like a promise, and his mouth tasted like gunshots and salt.

“Oh,” he sighed against her lips, “I like that better than cake.”

She gave him a grin of her own and chambered a bullet. “Cake later,” she told him. “Business first.”


	6. for mage_girl: Phil/Clint, winter, sledding, hot chocolate

The joke is that Phil is the Avengers’ babysitter. Days like this, it doesn’t seem so much like a joke.

The mission is over, the Latverian border is secure, and now Earth’s mightiest heroes have taken to the clean, white drifts like kids on the year’s first snow day. Most of them, Phil reminds himself, never were kids, not really. The winters of their childhoods were a different kind of cold.

Clint and Tony have rigged some kind of giant slingshot and are firing snowballs at Natasha as she goes whizzing by on Steve’s shield. Thor is slinging whole snowdrifts in their direction, but Clint keeps knocking them from the air with counter shots. Steve and Bruce are in the process of erecting a snow fort, presumably to defend themselves from flying frozen precipitation.

A snowball hits Natasha square in the face, and she tumbles off the shield, rolling into a crouch. Clint lets out a shout of triumph, which gets cut short when a fistful of wet snow connects with his mouth. He sputters and curses, and Tony falls over laughing.

Someone declares war, and suddenly snow is zooming in all directions. At some point, it becomes the mortals versus Thor, which seems hopeless until Natasha sneaks up behind him and shoves snow down his armor.

While Natasha hides with Steve and Bruce in the snow fort, Clint comes trudging toward Phil, his face red with cold and bright with laughter. The grin he gives Phil is glowing and unguarded.

“You just gonna sit here like a lump all day, boss?”

Phil sips mildly at his hot chocolate. “I think I’m a little old to play in the snow, Agent Barton.”

“Who’s playing?” Clint says, gesturing at the others. “This is a team-building exercise.”

A snort of laughter escapes before Phil can catch it, and Clint’s smile widens.

“C’mon, Coulson. Show these amateurs how it’s done.”

“Well,” Phil allows, “I do build a solid snowman.”

He lets Clint take him by the hand and lead him into the field of battle and thinks that maybe he’s not the babysitter, after all. Maybe he’s one of the kids.


	7. for Tama_abi: Clint/Phil, moving in together

It began with a toothbrush, obviously.

When they first started… whatever it was at the time, Clint had a habit of using Phil’s toothbrush. When Phil objected, Clint pointed out that they were regularly sharing a lot more than oral bacteria. Phil couldn’t really argue with that, but he bought a toothbrush for Clint to keep at his apartment, anyway. They lived next to each other on the bathroom counter, one blue and one purple, standing at attention in their recharging stations. Clint did buy his own toothpaste, though, with the declaration that the use of cinnamon-flavored anything was proof that Phil had no taste buds.

After that, the clothes started trickling in. It was just socks, at first. Phil would find one under the bed or stuck between the cushions of the couch. Then Clint’s jeans started turning up in his laundry. T-shirts appeared on the closet floor. A ragged black hoodie took up residence on the coat rack.

Phil just shifted everything in his drawers a little bit to the left and made room for Clint.

The day he nearly tripped over Clint’s spare quiver propped up against the kitchen counter was the day he made a decision. That evening, he handed Clint a key.

“What’s this for?”

“Well, all your stuff is here, now,” Phil replied mildly. “I figured it was time you stopped breaking in through the window.”


	8. for jade_equirrel: Clint SHIELD initiation

SHIELD’s not big on formality. Training and discipline, sure, but there are no ceremonies, no tests, no grand pronouncements. The way Clint learns that he’s been cleared for active duty as a full agent is that he gets sent on a solo assignment with no one but a handler to back him up.

“ _Talk to me._ ” The voice in his ear is unfamiliar, calm and even.

“This vantage point is shit,” Clint complains. “Fucking power lines everywhere. Lines of sight are all muddled up. Who thought this was a good idea?”

“ _Can you make the shot?_ ” the voice asks, and Clint rolls his eyes.

“Of course I can make the damn shot.” Honestly. These people. “This spot still sucks.”

“ _I weep for your plight,_ ” the voice deadpans. “ _Do you have eyes on the target?_ ”

Okay, Clint might like this guy. “Nope, but there’s a lot of mean-looking dudes running around.”

“ _Lets hope they don’t start running in your direction._ ”

They do, of course, when an unexpected complication forces Clint to take the shot early and give away his position. The target goes down, and Clint goes running, a large group of heavily armed guards on his heels.

“ _Get to street level. Next corner,_ ” the voice orders, and Clint really hopes this guy knows what he’s doing.

No sooner do Clint’s feet hit the sidewalk than a sleek black car comes screeching to a stop in front of him. He doesn’t hesitate, just dives into the passenger seat as the car swings back into motion.

“Nice shot,” the driver says by way of greeting, and it’s the same voice.

The car winds through traffic at a dizzying speed, and there’s no sign of pursuit. The driver, Clint’s handler, is a plain man in a sharp, black suit, and he looks as unruffled as if he was out for a Sunday stroll.

“Nice driving,” Clint replies, and the man looks at him through dark glasses and smiles.

Okay, yeah. Clint definitely likes this guy.


	9. for Tama_Abi: Clint/Phil, going back to someone

It was a rough mission.

Not that there were any easy ones. Phil was of the opinion that nothing involving people's deaths should ever be easy.

This one, though.... Everything had gone more or less according to plan, mission accomplished, no casualties, minimum collateral damage. He just hadn't expected resistance from their targets to be so fierce. He hadn't expected them to die so... badly.

The debriefing was mercifully brief, as was the requisite inspection from medical. Even so, it was well past two in the morning by the time Phil was able to make his way home. He had the car drop him a block from the apartment and walked the rest of the way, breathing in the cool night air.

He... needed a moment, needed time to cross the line between Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD, and Phil who was craving a strawberry milkshake and who smelled like barn but would never hear the end of it if he'd stopped to shower before coming home.

The dead insurgents were still screaming in his head, and he couldn't bring that sound into his home, not at that volume. He needed the storm of blood and noise to be a small, solid thing in his hands before he would let it enter.

He looked up and saw a light glowing in the kitchen window, not the bright florescent overhead but the little lamp by the sink.

A light on meant Clint was home, waiting, probably asleep on the couch with infomercials playing in the background. He would wake up the instant Phil's key touched the lock, and he would stare through the low light with half-opened eyes. Phil would take off his shoes by the door, take off his jacket and his gun and all the trappings of the job, and he would lie down beside Clint on the couch. He would take the mission and the screaming and the endless hours away, and he would lay all of it at Clint's feet, a confession and an offering.

A light on meant Clint was home, and that alone calmed the storm in Phil's mind. He smiled.


	10. for Jade_equirrel: Clint/Natasha, first meeting

Natasha’s not easily impressed. She’s seen too much, bested too many of “the best” to have much use for epithets and superlatives. “The World’s Greatest Marksman”, as far as she’s concerned, is a title some second-string sniper came up with to drum up business. She’s heard of him, sure, but no one’s as good as he’s supposed to be.

When the first arrow arcs through the air and punches the gun cleanly out of her hand, she thinks it’s a fluke, a lucky shot. When the second arrow flies past, close enough to skim the soft skin on the side of her neck, she thinks he’s missed, until the strap slung over her should parts along a clean cut and the bag with the harddrive slips to the ground.

“Please don’t run,” he says. “I really don’t like shooting people in the back.”

The bow and arrows aren’t a surprise. What is surprising is the effect they produce, drawing out the muscles on his arms and the curve of his back, his whole body engaged in the simple act of pulling a string. She’s seen arrows fired before, but not like this, not with the kind of focus this man is bringing to bear.

Running, she thinks, would definitely be a poor choice.

“You must be the amazing Hawkeye.” She keeps her opinions out of her voice, lets him wonder whether or not she’s mocking him.

“And you’re the fucking Black Widow. Aren’t we a couple of celebrities.” He adds, “I don’t think so,” as she shifts her hand a fraction of an inch to slide out the knife hidden in her sleeve. “Arms out, fingers spread.”

He’s smiling, one corner of his mouth turned up, humor in his sharp eyes. It’s the smile of an artist finishing a piece, and there is, unexpectedly, nothing of the hunter in his face. Natasha finds herself wondering who the hell this man actually is.

“You’ve got me,” she says, giving him her own sort of smile. Whoever he is, he’s still a man, and she can use that. “I don’t want anymore trouble. Maybe we can… work something out?”

He laughs. “Seriously? That’s the line you’re going with?” His aim never falters, the arrow still angled straight at her heart. “Lady, you can pout those pretty lips all you want. It’s not gonna do a damn thing.”

Maybe not. She shrugs. “Fair enough. How about a deal, then?”

“What kind of deal?” He’s still smiling. “You gonna offer me half your take? Give me whatever’s in that bag if I let you walk away?”

“Something like that.”

He laughs again, shaking his head, and the arrow still doesn’t move. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?”

His aim shifts suddenly, and the arrow plows into the ground at her feet, exploding into a mass of… well, of sticky goo. The substances hardens immediately, and Natasha is glued in place before she can even think to move.

She raises one eyebrow. “That’s different.”

His bow is at rest, now, and he stands with an easy confidence, his grin lit with mischief. No one’s as good as he’s supposed to be, but he is _exactly_ as good as he thinks he is.

Natasha might be a little impressed. Maybe.


	11. for Tama_abi: Phil/Clint, the team discovers they're together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffiest fluff in the history of fluffiness, y/n?

"Wait, so... no cellist?"

Honestly, this was going better than Phil really expected, even if some members of the team were taking a little longer to catch on.

"I used to play the mandolin," Clint volunteered. "Does that count?" Phil shot him a look, and he shrugged.

"I can't believe you lied to me." Pepper was shaking her head. "I mean, obviously, you have to lie, you're a secret agent. But not about this."

"The mandolin? Really?" Bruce asked.

"Long story. Circus thing."

"Ah."

"I do not understand," Thor boomed. "Is it so strange a thing for warriors to seek peace in each other? This is cause for joy!"

"There are a lot of Midgardians who would disagree with you," Phil said, and Thor gave him a look of utter confusion.

"That is entirely not the point," Tony said. "I don't care if you're having bi-weekly orgies with the SHIELD legal department. In fact, I encourage it. That agent... what's her name? Parker? She's a fox." Pepper rolled her eyes, and Tony went on, "The _point_ , Agent Coulson, is that you have withheld information vital to the effective functioning of this team."

"I don't see what...."

"Vital, Coulson. _Vital_." Tony pointed an accusatory finger at Natasha. "And you. I can only assume you knew about this...." He waved a hand toward Phil and Clint. "Arrangement?"

"Arrangement?" Clint protested. "What the fuck, Stark?"

"Officially, no," Natasha replied. "That information is black-out clearance, only."

"Which is why it wasn't volunteered," Phil added. "In addition to being irrelevant and none of your damn business."

Tony sputtered. "You live in my house! We're practically family, here. I'm pretty sure that makes it my business. Pepper, honey, back me up."

"That's enough," Steve said, and Phil tensed as everyone fell silent. Beside him, Clint went completely still. "I agree with Thor and - I can't believe I'm saying this - with Tony. This is a good thing, and, while I understand _why_ you didn't tell us, full disclosure would have been better than finding out because Jarvis spilled the beans."

"Yeah, thanks for that. Traitor," Clint muttered.

" _Apologies, Agent Barton. I was unaware that your relationship with Agent Coulson was classified. I will show more discretion in the future._ "

"Wait a minute. Jarvis?" Bruce asked. He was either vaguely puzzled or deeply amused by the whole situation. Phil wasn't sure which.

"Don't ask," Tony told him. "Seriously. There was video. I'm scarred for life."

"I found it most pleasing."

Every eye in the room turned to Thor in disbelief, except for Phil, who buried his face in his hands. Thor just smiled back at them.

Steve gave him a sympathetic look. "All I need to know is that this won't affect your performance in the field."

Clint was looking at Steve the way he stared down targets, clear and calculating. "Never has before."

"And if...." Steve sighed. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. If things... don't work out. Can you keep it professional?"

Clint's eyes went to Phil, at once defiant and searching, and Phil laid a hand on his wrist. "I can assure you that won't be a problem, Captain."

Steve nodded gravely. "That's good to hear. Now, I understand it was your, uh, anniversary celebration that started all this?"

Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD, absolutely did not, under any circumstances, blush, even as Clint leered at him happily. "That's right."

"Well, then," Steve said, giving them both a bright smile, "I think a party is in order. Happy anniversary."


	12. for Desi: Thor gets curious about Hawkeyes bow. Accidentally breaks it as Phil walks in. HOW DO THEY FIX THIS?

FRIEND BARTON!

I, THOR ODINSON, PEN THIS MISSIVE WITH HEAVY HEART TO CONFESS THAT I HAVE DONE YOU TERRIBLE WRONG. IT WAS IN THAT PLACE WHERE WE WARRIORS TRY OUR STRENGTH THAT I BEHELD YOUR MIGHTY BOW UNATTENDED AND DID LIFT IT TO TEST ITS STRENGTH. IT WAS A SHAMEFUL THING TO TREAT MY HERO-BROTHER'S UNMATCHED WEAPON WITH SUCH DISRESPECT, BUT SURELY YOU KNOW THIS WONDROUS THING IS UNIQUE IN ALL THE NINE REALMS, THUS DID MY WARRIOR'S AWE OVERCOME MY BETTER SENSE.

IN MY ~~LUST TO KNOW YOUR MIGHTY BOW~~ CURIOSITY, I DID INFLICT DAMAGE UPON THAT FINE WEAPON. IT WAS A SLIGHT INJURY, BUT ANY MARK UPON SO GREAT A THING IS AN AFFRONT TO YOUR GREAT WORTH AS A WARRIOR. I MEANT NO OFFENSE, FRIEND BARTON, AND I PRAY YOU WILL FORGIVE THIS DREADFUL DEED.

THE WISE SON OF COUL DID HAPPEN UPON ME IN MY MOMENT OF SHAME, AND BY HIS SAGE COUNSEL I HAVE DELIVERED THE UNRIVALED BOW INTO THE CAPABLE HANDS OF THE MAN OF IRON THAT IT MAY BE RESTORED TO ITS BRIGHT GLORY AND ONCE AGAIN BE WORTHY OF YOUR HAND.

THE SON OF COUL, WHO KNOWS YOUR HEART, ADVISED ME ALSO TO KEEP THIS INSULT FROM YOU FOR FEAR THAT KNOWLEDGE OF MY INFRACTION MIGHT HARM OUR WARRIOR'S BOND. BUT I, THOR ODINSON, AM NO CHILD AND DO NOT CONCEAL MY ERRORS BENEATH MY BED. I HAVE DISHONORED MYSELF AND WRONGED YOU, MY FRIEND, AND IF YOU WILL BEAR NO LONGER THE BURDEN OF MY AFFECTIONS, THEN SO BE IT.

I CAST MYSELF UPON YOUR WISDOM AND YOUR MERCY, FRIEND BARTON, FOR I KNOW YOUR SPIRIT TO BE AS KIND AS YOUR AIM IS TRUE.

YOURS IN FAITH AND LOYALTY,  
THOR, SON OF ODIN, GOD OF THUNDER, BEARER OF MJOLNIR, PRINCE OF ASGARD, GUARDIAN OF THE NINE REALMS, PROTECTOR OF MIDGARD, AVENGER OF EARTH, FRIEND AND BATTLE-BROTHER TO THE GREAT HAWK-EYED ARCHER

\--  
"Are you _still_ not speaking to Thor?"

"He broke my bow! And you told him to lie about it."

"I was afraid you'd do this. He apologized, Clint, and Stark did fix it."

"Oh, man. He did better than fix it. The upgrades are amazing."

"So what's the problem?"

"Nothing. But have you ever seen an Asgardian mope? It's _hilarious_. Besides, he keeps giving me things to try and make up for offending my honor or some shit."

"...You're a terrible person."

"Yes, but I'm a terrible person who just got a new quiver full of magic arrows forged by dwarves. I am _awesome_."


	13. for Tama_abi: Clint/Phil, Coulson losing his unflappability

Coulson paced slowly in front of the line of terrified junior agents. Every one of them stood at perfect attention, eyes straight ahead, and every one of them looked like they were one loud noise away from pissing themselves.

"Before you start pointing fingers, you should be aware that I know _exactly_ who it was. I know how you did it, I know when, and I could give you a list of detailed reasons _why_ in the form of a full psychiatric profile that would make your personal therapist turn in their diploma and retire to Wyoming."

Clint and Natasha stood together against the back wall, watching Coulson at work. He was as angry as Clint had ever seen him, color high on his face and brow furrowed in rage. There was cold murder in his tone, and the two of them were there mostly to make sure he didn't inflict any actual damage on the junior agents.

"I also know that you're covering for each other which, while admirable, means that I will hold each and every one of you personally responsible for what could reasonably be classified as an act of actual treason."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look as Coulson stalked slowly up the line and stared into the eyes of every petrified agent. They really should have known better.

"The only reason you haven't all been blacklisted or transferred to Antarctica is because Director Fury himself intervened on your behalf. He appealed to my sense of mercy. Well, ladies and gentlemen, you have officially reached the limits of my mercy."

Natasha leaned in and whispered, "What mercy?" Clint shrugged.

"As of this moment, you are all on notice, and if _anything_ of this nature ever happens again, every last one of you will be burned. I will put the red stamp on your files myself, and I will personally recommend a promotion for the agents who eliminate you. Is that _perfectly_ clear?"

It was a credit to the agents' fortitude that they managed to snap out a round of shaky "Yes, sir"s.

"Dismissed," Coulson spat, and the lot of them practically ran for the door. Clint wanted to laugh at them, but he knew well enough to be sure that, should circumstances arise, Coulson would make good on his threats.

The terror of retribution spread like wildfire, though, and that was the last time anyone switched the break room coffee for decaff.


	14. for sabinelagrande: Phil/Clint, pretending to be married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I cheated a little and used something I'd already written for an abandoned fic. I regret nothing.

“This is a _terrible_ idea.”

The time for protests had passed. The time for protests was, in fact, about 200 miles back in the rearview mirror, at the door of Stark Tower, but Clint had kept up his objections across every inch since.

“This is possibly the single worst plan ever put into action, and this is coming from me. _Me_ , Coulson. The guy who brings arrows to a supervillain fight. I know from bad ideas, and this? This is an awful fucking idea.”

It was too late. They were already turning onto the gravel drive of the quaint little bed-and-breakfast.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Coulson said, “but our options are limited.”

“Shooting things is still an option. Shooting things is my favorite option.”

The corner of Coulson’s mouth twitched, and he gave Clint a look that was almost fond. “I’m sure you’ll get to shoot something, before all’s said and done. In the meantime, just... pretend to be happy. We are on our honeymoon, after all.”

Clint barred his teeth in an imitation of a smile and repeated in the most sugary sweet voice he could muster, “This is a terrible idea.”

“Shut up, dear.”

“Fuck you, sweetie pie.”

The inside of the bed-and-breakfast was like something out of a Norman Rockwell themed nightmare, right down to the rosy-cheeked little old lady who greeted them at the desk. Clint suppressed a shudder and kept a plastic smile plastered on his face, his arm looped through Coulson’s.

“You must be the Bishops!” the little old lady said gleefully. “Welcome to Elder House! How was your trip?”

“Oh, it was terrific!” Clint replied, matching her enthusiasm decibel for decibel. “The drive was just gorgeous!”

Coulson gave him a smile that would read to anyone else as dopey adoration. To Clint, it just said, _Don’t oversell it._

“Isn’t it, though? You should come back in the fall, when the leaves are changing. So many colors!” The woman was beaming at them in a way that made Clint’s skin crawl. He moved in tighter against Coulson, but that just made her grin brighter. “It’s so wonderful to see young people in love.”

Clint absolutely did not roll his eyes. Coulson, thankfully, took over the small talk, and soon they were settling into a room that looked like it had been decorated entirely out of swap-meets and somebody’s attic. In the middle was the biggest, tackiest, fluffiest bed Clint had ever seen in his life.

“Oh yeah, this is definitely the headquarters for a human-sacrificing, crazy-worshipping chaos cult,” Clint said. “That’s the only explanation for this much plaid.”


	15. for teatrousers: bodyswap, featuring Deadpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is criminal how much I love writing Phil's reports.

**Incident Report** : 2110929  
 **Filed By** : Coulson, Philip J. VI-619 Lvl 7  
 **Date of File** : 07232014  
 **Date of Incident** : 07202014  
 **Location** : Stark Tower and surrounding area

**Description of Incident** :

Consultant Anthony Stark [See file PD-235 R-NY] was in the process of conducting a test of an undesignated item, which was disrupted by the interference of probationary agent Wade Wilson, codename: Deadpool [See file PD-687 C-XP]. The interference resulted in a temporary transfer of consciousness between the bodies of consultant Stark and agent Wilson. 

With the aid of Captain Steven Rogers [See file PD-175 P-CA], consultant Stark was able to reverse the transference within a matter of hours. Neither consultant Stark nor agent Wilson appeared to sustain any permanent physical or psychological damage, though, in the case of agent Wilson, such damage may be difficult to ascertain.

Both consultant Stark and Captain Rogers are to be commended for their quick thinking and decisive action. Agent Wilson was seen to have contributed to the solution by repeatedly declaring "I am Iron Man" at considerable volume.

Property damage resulting from this incident [See file 2110929, Addendum F] should be attributed to agent Wilson, and the resulting expenses should be deducted from his regular pay.

**Undersigned** : Coulson, Philip J. VI-619 Lvl 7


	16. for coffeesuperhero: 3 sentence AUs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt meme on Tumblr.

**C/C glam rock AU**

The guy in the suit catches Clint’s eye, haloed by a sparkle from the glitter in his lashes. Mod’s out, but the guy looks good, all slick angles and a sly smile. Clint slides on a smile of his own and swaggers slowly across the club until he sidles right up to the edge of that sharp suit and asks, “Do you jive?”

 

**Clint & Nat, caper!fick/thieves AU**

They worked together like a dream, fire and rain, burning through marks with a sweet smile and a light touch and cleaning them out before they even saw smoke, leaving a trail of broken hearts and empty safes in their wake.

The plan was the same as always: Nat played the wide-eyed ingenue and drew the mark in while Clint hacked, cracked, and snuck his way through a series of security protocols that tore at his touch like paper.

They were almost there, almost done, almost out, and Clint had the diamonds in his goddamn hand when he heard the thin, chilling wail of sirens.

 

**Tony/Pepper, Western AU**

SHIELD TOWN GAZETTE  
 _April 1, 1897_  


TYCOON TAKES ON OUTLAWS  
 _by P. Parker_

Noted industrialist Mister Anthony Stark thwarted a robbery at the Carrier Bank, yesterday, single-handedly capturing ten members of the infamous Skull Gang. Stark appeared on the scene wearing what appeared to be a suit of steam-powered armor equipped with various weaponry. When asked about the suit’s origin, Stark directed questions to his business partner and rumored paramour, Miss Virgina Potts.


	17. for coffeesuperhero: Clint/Coulson, rainy day + cuddles

It’s not the worst place they’ve had to hole up, but it’s not exactly the Ritz. The tin roof is rusted and leaking, water dripping onto the concrete floor and running down the walls. There is one dry square foot of ground, and they’re both squeezed into it, folded and tangled up together, around and on top of each other.

The storm outside is so loud, Clint can hardly hear anything, but he hears well enough when Phil grumbles into his ear, “Next time we get a blackout assignment in Bangladesh, I’m telling the director to shove it.”

Clint laughs. “No, you won’t, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

The rain has done nothing to break the thick, tropical heat. There is steam rising from the pavement outside the open door, and it feels like Clint’s skin is steaming, too. Trying to stay dry seems like a futile endeavor when they’re already soaked in sweat.

Phil sighs and rests his forehead against Clint’s neck, a scorching brand on his skin. “It could be worse, I suppose.”

“It could always be worse, boss,” Clint says. “It could be snowing.”

“Or hailing.”

“Earthquake. Fire. Flooding.”

“We could be injured.”

“Or alone.”

They’ve been there, it’s been worse, but they’re here, now. Instead of knocking wood, Clint lays a kiss on Phil’s head and draws him in closer.

It’s not the worst place they’ve had to hole up, and, all things considered, it’s not all that bad.


	18. Celebratory Coulson Lives drabble!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating because COULSON LIVES!

“What a minute, you knew about this?”

“Of course, I knew,” Clint said, frowning. “Fury’s a dick, but he’s not cruel.”

Tony rubbed his eyes. “And Romanov knew.”

“Natasha knows everything.” Tony gave him a skeptical look, but Clint assured him, “No, really. Everything.”

“And neither of you thought this was something the rest of us might want to know?”

Clint tilted his head. “You are familiar with the concept of a secret agent?”

“Smart ass.” Tony looked across the room to where Coulson sat surrounded by the team, everyone demanding stories and explanations, everyone celebrating. Pepper was close beside him, beaming through tears, and Thor kept interrupting with loud toasts to honor the courageous Son of Coul.

“How’re you doing with this?” Clint asked, his sharp eyes fixed on Tony’s face.

Whatever flippant reply he might have tossed out withered in his mouth. Clint could spot bullshit a mile away. “I’m good. Freaking out. Mostly good. Also planning some serious avenging on Fury’s lying ass.”

Clint grinned. “Count me in. I’ve got intel that might help.”

“Deal.”

They’d defeated Loki and the Chitauri, saved Manhattan, and forged a team out of a few lost and battered souls, but only now, with everyone assembled and safe, did it seem like a victory. For the first time since he’d watched a set of bloodied cards land on the table, Tony felt like maybe, just maybe, they had won.


	19. for sabinelagrande: Clint/Natasha/Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **HERE THERE BE PORN.**
> 
> You have been warned.

It’s a one-time thing, but Natasha’s not complaining.

Clint’s face is between her thighs, and he’s sucking at her clit for all he’s worth. Phil has his arms wrapped around her from behind, kissing and biting up and down her neck, running his palms in rough circles over her breasts. He grabs a nipple between his fingers and twists. Natasha cries out and bucks hard, but Clint doesn’t miss a beat, just braces her hips with his big, strong hands and swipes his tongue between her folds.

They’ve been at it for an hour already, and every inch of Natasha’s skin feels soft and thin and raw. It’s almost too much, and almost not quite enough.

Phil lays a hand on her belly, biting down into the crook of her shoulder, and Clint’s blunt fingernails into her flesh. The heat rolls up in her, and she grips Clint’s hair, pressing his face harder against her as she comes.

Phil hardly waits for her to ride it out before he drags her back on the bed and flings her down. She doesn’t protest, just spreads her knees for him and moans as he presses into her. She’s already open, already wet, and the waves of pleasure are still cresting in her, reaching fever pitch as he starts to thrust.

It’s a one-time thing, and Natasha’s going to get everything out of it that she can.


	20. for Desi: Phil, Clint, and Ororo go shopping for a new couch. It does not go as planned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From coffeesuperhero's amazing ['Family Man'](http://archiveofourown.org/series/19890) universe.

"This was supposed to be simple."

"I know."

"It was supposed to be the three of us going out, picking out a couch, and going home."

"I know."

"Preferably to nap on said couch."

"Clint, I _know_. I'm sorry."

"It's not you. It's _Stark_. Why is he even here?"

"Something about introducing Steve to the 'wonders of Swedish engineering'."

"That's not even.... Okay, fine, whatever. But why are the _rest_ of them here?"

"Where Tony Stark goes, so goeth the Avengers?"

"And he had them close the store because...?"

"Because Thor."

"Ah."

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Come look!"

"D'you find something, kiddo?"

"Don't pull so hard, sweetheart. You'll hurt your arms."

"I want _this one_."

"Oh. Well, uh...."

"That's a very, um, very _vibrant_ shade of green."

"TRULY IT IS A MAGNIFICENT HUE, BEFITTING THE DOMAIN OF SO SPIRITED A PRINCESS."

"Yes, but I'm not sure it'll match... anything."

"We'll stick a pin in it, okay, kid?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means let's go look at stuff that's a little less neon."

"What's wrong, Barton? Can't take a little color?"

"That's not a color. That's an assault on my eyesight."

"Ooh! Ooh! Daddy, what about that one?"

"Yeah, not sure pink leopard print's really a step in the right direction, there."

Other rejected choices included an overstuffed sofa with orange daisies and, predictably, a rainbow-striped love seat.

"That one might be a little, uh, on-the-nose," Clint says quickly, because there is no way he's letting Stark get to that joke.

"What does that mean?"

"It means.... Y'know what, let's go look over this way."

For about an hour, couch-hunting turns into a game of hide-and-seek, and Clint is, for once, glad that Stark had the store closed. Ororo teams up with Bruce, and Natasha lets them win.

Eventually, Ororo wonders off with Thor, and Clint finds them both fast asleep on a low, plum sofa. Thor has sunk so deep into the soft cushions that his knees are tucked up to his chest, and Ororo is a tiny shape tucked close against his side.

Clint turns and catches Phil's smile.

"I think we've got a winner."


	21. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From "Imagine your OTP" on Tumblr: Imagine person A of your OTP kissing person B’s scars.

There is a scar on Clint’s back, a starburst of rippled skin that corresponds to a neat, round bullet wound on his chest.

Clint has no shortage of scars, to be sure. The lines of them cross and curve and form a dense map of which Phil is the sole cartographer. He learns their topography by sight and touch and taste and memorizes the key that ties them to sites in his heart and to places in Clint’s pleasure. Near this knife wound is a patch of skin on Clint’s hip that will make him howl when touched. A left at that burn will lead to a spot on his shoulder where he loves to be kissed.

But there is a scar on Clint’s back that Phil hates. It is not the only mark left by an exiting gunshot, and it is one of many made by those in whom Clint has mistakenly placed his faith. It is the worst, though, the longest left to heal, and Phil can picture all too easily the straight line of the bullet’s path, punching front to back. He knows how near it passed Clint’s broken heart, and the sight of it burns bitter in the pit of his stomach. Never has he known such need for murder as when the texture of that scar is beneath his fingers, the taste of it on his tongue.

Clint Barton, aged seventeen, was shot once in the chest by his mentor, Jacques Duquesne, aka The Swordsman, and fell from the circus tightrope. Believing Clint to be dead, Duquesne fled, and Clint was found by his elder brother and rushed to the hospital.

That’s the story; that’s what Clint’s file says; that’s what Phil knows to be the simple truth. But the truth is never simple, and that scar is the story of Clint’s life writ in twisted skin. The sight of it sticks in Phil’s heart with the knowledge that the man who made it left Clint lying broken and bleeding in the dirt and shit, and Phil would hunt down Duquesne and tear him apart with teeth and fingernails if someone else hadn’t gotten there, first.

Every scar is a token of something that could have taken him away, but there is a scar on Clint’s back that speaks to what could have been lost before it was found. The bullet missed, though, just like all the others, and left nothing but one more bitter scar for Phil to kiss in the dark.


	22. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I have thinky thoughts. Sometimes my thinky thoughts turn into fic.

Tony likes to make an entrance, hence the theme music. He likes to think he chose well, something inescapable and iconic, pulse-pounding and head-turning, and it gives him a morbid little kick that everyone seems to forget the loss that spurred the creation of that record. Mostly, he just really likes AC/DC.

The thing is, though, he isn’t the only one with a theme. The others are just as eye-catching, just as undeniably heroic, and there’s music in Tony’s head for every one of them.

Steve, of course, is big band and brass, something smooth and stirring from a time gone by, with a raucous, rollicking streak hidden in the sound of horns. He is Benny Goodman and Cole Porter, lively and sly and faintly melancholic. It’s an obvious choice, but Steve is a little obvious, once you get to know him.

Bruce is house trance, steady and seething, ready at any moment to burst into the deafening pulse of broken bass. Even when he’s quiet and soothing, he’s never really still, and Tony can almost hear the slowed-down echo of sampled melodies when Bruce walks into the room.

The only track he can ever hear for Thor is “Immigrant Song”, but he chalks that one up as a win.

Natasha, predictably, is accompanied by the strains of classical composers. The beauty of her is mesmerizing, and her thrashing violence is sudden and graceful. She’s a firebird if ever there was one, that’s for sure. Sometimes, though, at those moments when she isn’t paying attention and Tony is, he hears her suite intercut with quiet minor chords, a voice in piano longing for a home that never was.

Clint is punk in its earliest iteration, rough and ready and impossibly loud. There’s no polish or craft, there, just a touch of talent and the unstoppable determination to make noise and make a mark. It’s hard music to appreciate, but Tony knows enough to know that the volume masks something honest and sharp and that the three simple chords are rooted, strangely, in hope.

Fury doesn’t get music. Only people Tony likes get music.

At first, he would have said that Coulson was jazz. That still seems right, but not the easy, early jazz that gets covered and used in television commercials. No, Coulson is the strange, unsettling coolness of bebop, the unquantifiable influence of unfamiliar instruments and arrhythmic percussion. It’s music for musicians, and Tony understands the artistry of it, even if he has no idea what it means.

Pepper, though. Pepper’s his favorite. Pepper is the love song rounding out the rock record, the one he knows every word to and catches himself humming when he’s in a good mood. Pepper is the upbeat ballad that sticks in his head and makes him want to waltz around the room. Pepper is the grace note at the end of the album and the swelling intro that sets the pace for everything to follow. He really kind of loves her a lot.

Not that he would ever tell any of them this, and not that what he hears is in any way related to what they actually listen to. Steve’s developed a fondness for Paul Simon, and Clint, he’s discovered, has an inexplicable devotion to celtic folk. Bruce likes European hip-hop; Coulson likes electric blues. Natasha, as far as he can tell, doesn’t listen to music for pleasure, though she does have a workout playlist with an inordinate amount of Asian technopop. As further evidence of her perfection as a human being, Pepper is just a little bit obsessed with Led Zeppelin and can sing anything by Tom Lehrer at the drop of a hat, though she won’t admit to either.

He is actually going to kill whoever introduced Thor to Celine Dion, though. He just has to figure out who it was.


	23. Just Like Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint & Natasha broship. Was posted independently, but I'm moving it here in the interest of organization. :)

It’s raining.

It’s raining, and people are shooting at them, and something just blew up on the next block, and the coms are down, and they are well and truly fucked.

Clint’s grinning like there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be. His shoulder is pressed against Natasha’s, and she can feel his muscles tense with the pull of his bow.

“So then he says something about, I don’t know, ruling all of Eastern Europe, or whatever the fuck they’re trying to do. And I said, ‘Well, that’s gonna be a problem’.”

“And that’s why they’re shooting at us?”

“And that’s why they’re shooting at us.”

The alcove they ducked into doesn’t offer much cover from the rain or the bullets, but it’s better than running up the middle of the street.

“So this is your fault.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who strangled the guy with a pair of lacy panties.”

“He was about to push you out a window.”

“Like _that’s_ never happened before.”

A shot hits the wall near Natasha’s head, blasting rain and brick fragments into her face. She fires back in reply.

“I’m thinking we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“Whatever happened to old fashioned hospitality? I ask you.”

“If we can make that alley, we might have a clear shot to the extraction point.”

“Go. I’ll cover you.” He flashes that grin at her over his shoulder. “Us against the world, just like always.”

“Just like always.”

Natasha darts around the corner and hugs the wall as she makes a blind run for the alley, trusting that nothing will touch her as long as Clint has her back.


	24. Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I were to write a Kate-centric series (Hire me, Marvel. Seriously.) it would be on themes of inheritance and legacy. I have many thinky thoughts about Kate Bishop and her perfect face.

The name never sat well. 

If she was being honest, Kate would have said it was a little creepy, carrying a dead man’s title, and it weighed heavier on her shoulders than she’d expected. Not that she would change it, though, because even she wasn’t _that_ disrespectful.

Besides, she really didn’t have any better ideas.

She did an image search, once, after the sudden realization that she didn’t actually know what he looked like. The search didn’t help much. He was masked in most of the pictures, or wearing sunglasses or turned away or cut off at the edge of the photo. In a lot of them, he was standing behind another hero, his face blocked by Cap’s shield or obscured by the glow of Iron Man’s repulsors.

Kate wondered if that was a metaphor for his career.

The call sign stuck, regardless. The team got better, Kate got stronger, and people kept calling her by a name that wasn’t really hers.

When she did finally meet him, he was both more and less than she imagined.

She expected him to be loud and abrasive and moderately handsome in a generic Midwestern farm boy kind of way. She expected the hapless, hot-tempered loner with a smart mouth and something to prove. She expected to be disappointed, because you’re never supposed to meet your heroes, even if he was only _her_ hero by default.

She just didn’t expect him to be so... human.

Most of the other Avengers, once you got to know them, were pretty normal, for a given value of normal. They made jokes and spilled their coffee and brushed their teeth just like everybody else, but there was still something about them, some intangible thing that marked them as different, as chosen.

He didn’t have it.

There was no aura of greatness about him, nothing awe-inspiring in his presence. He was just an ordinary guy who happened to save the world for a living. Good work if you can get it, Kate thought.

She wanted to say, _I thought you’d be taller._

She wanted to say, _Congratulations on not being dead._

She wanted to say, _It’s nice to meet you._

She said, “I guess you want your name back.”

He shrugged and smiled, not the beaming visage of an iconic hero, but an honest, crooked grin that showed the edge of one chipped tooth. “Nah,” he said. “World’s better with two Hawkeyes.”

The name seemed to sit a little better after that.


	25. for concertigrossi: Enemies Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> concertigrossi on tumblr asked: Does Coulson have a long-term, recurring nemesis? It can be anything from the third-floor coffee machine to, well, Thanos.
> 
> This is what I went with.

Phil carries his death with him. He doesn’t know the the details - the when and how and why of it - but he knows who will be to blame when it comes.

They’ve been friends for half their lives, at this point, and Phil loves Nick Fury like a brother. Phil understands the idealism and the ambition that drive him onwards and upwards, and he knows, better than anyone, what heights this man can achieve and to what depths he will sink to get there. It is the great and terrible things of which Fury is capable that keep Phil at his side.

Of course, the inverse is equally true, and Fury will do everything in his power to make sure Phil stays in second place for the rest of his life. Phil will never lead, never rule, and he will never bear any great title. Because Fury knows, better than anyone, what awful capacities lie in wait behind his placid smile.

They’re going to kill each other one day, one way or another. They’ve been friends for half their lives, and Phil knows what truth there is in that adage about friends and enemies.


	26. for emmi_hayes: Phil and Kate, awkward bros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got an anon ask on Tumblr for Clint and/or Phil talking to each other's partners, and emmi_hayes asked for Phil and Kate. So this is what you get!

“Can I be totally honest?”

Phil looked at Kate in surprise. She had a habit of treating him with the detached friendliness usually afforded to unpleasant in-laws and had never, to his recollection, actually initiated a conversation. 

“Of course,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

She fixed him with a stare that was every bit as sharp as Clint’s and yet somehow wiser. “You kind of freak me out.”

Phil blinked. “I’m... sorry?”

“You’re a scary guy,” she went on. “Nice, but scary.”

There was nothing accusatory in her tone, nothing to suggest that she was criticising or calling him out, and Phil found himself at a loss. Granted, he was usually at a loss when it came to Kate. Clint adored her, which was certainly something, and she was clearly devoted to him, which raised her considerably in Phil’s estimation. His respect for her, however, didn’t mean he had any idea how to actually talk to her.

“I’m not trying to be mean, or anything.” She bit her lip, a quick movement that made her look more her own age. “It’s just that I kind of need you to like me, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that.”

Maybe it was an archer thing, Phil thought, or maybe Clint was rubbing off on her. Either way, no one but the two of them ever managed to blindside him so completely.

“Are you under the impression that I _don’t_ like you?” he asked.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” she replied. “Like I said, you’re a scary guy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Kate sighed. “Look, don’t you dare tell him this, but I do care what Clint thinks, okay? And he cares what you think. So I feel like we should, I don’t know, try to be friends, or something.”

“Kate, I’m not sure Clint’s opinion of you could be any higher than it already is,” he told her. “And I have nothing but admiration for your abilities.”

She shook her head, frowning. “I’m screwing this up. Okay. It’s like I’ve been adopted by half a family, right? I know Clint and I are good, but you’re part of this, too. So I want to know what it’s gonna take for us to be friends.”

Phil realized suddenly what he must look like to her, this impassive, serious man hovering at her mentor’s shoulder and treating her with cautious distance. No wonder she thought he didn’t like her.

“I don’t think it’ll be too difficult.” He held out his hand, smiling. “Hi. I’m Clint’s husband, Phil.”

She gave him a curious look, but she still took his hand. “Kate.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kate. What kind of music do you like?”

Slowly, she smiled.


	27. for bendingwind: 616!Clint/616!Phil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just so we're clear, if February 13 rolls around, and I'm never heard from again. It's because _Secret Avengers_ has killed me.

Clint thinks this whole thing with Nick Fury 2.0 is a little weird, even for SHIELD. To be fair, though, he’s not giving it as much thought as it probably warrants. He’s much more interested in the other guy.

They don’t get properly introduced, and Clint only figures out the guy’s name is Coulson because that’s what Fury junior keeps calling him. He’s got the kind of calm about him that can only be the mark of a bona fide, battle-hardened badass. He’s also wearing a suit that probably cost more than Clint’s last hospital visit, and Clint might be staring just a little bit.

He shoots Bobbi a questioning look, and she shrugs. She tilts her head toward the guy and gives Clint a wink. He rolls his eyes and thinks there’s probably something wrong with his life.

The first thing he says to the guy is nothing. The team is trailing out of a briefing, and the two of them have gotten shuffled together. Coulson catches his eye and flashes a small, friendly smile that takes Clint by surprise. Clint’s not very good at casual interaction, so he smiles back and says, “Nice suit.”

It’s one of several things he’s been thinking since he saw the guy, but it’s the only one that’s not likely to get him in trouble with SHIELD HR. It’s lame and silly and should fall totally flat, but the most remarkable thing happens.

The guy blushes.

Just a little bit, just at the tips of his ears, but it’s definitely a blush, and he’s definitely smiling, and Clint is _definitely_ staring.

He sees Bobbi looking back over her shoulder. She grins and gives a stealthy thumbs-up. Clint just turns back to Coulson, still smiling, maybe a little stupidly, and gives her a finger of his own.


	28. for sabinelagrande: Kate and Nat have no idea what to do with each other

Natasha’s not like a big sister to Kate.

Kate has a big sister, and all the expectations and unfortunate comparisons that come with it. Natasha? Nothing like that.

Natasha’s like her older sibling’s incredibly cool, amazingly hot, totally intimidating best friend. Natasha makes her want to show off, makes her feel like she has to earn her right to be in the room.

Natasha also kind of makes her want to tear off all her clothes and beg to be ravished, but that’s mostly a separate issue.

They’re standing in the foyer of the mansion, waiting for the others, and Kate can taste the awkwardness. It tastes like feet.

“So,” Kate tries. “How’s it going?”

Natasha gives her a look like she’s trying to decide if it’s a question or a code phrase. Eventually, she says, “Same as usual. You?”

Kate really has no idea what ‘usual’ is for Natasha. “Same. Keeping busy.”

“Busy is good,” Natasha says.

“Yeah,” Kate agrees.

Silence returns.

A few minutes later, there is a loud crash and raucous laughter from the hallway, and Kate can hear Carol yelling, “ _Goddamnit, Barton!_ ”

Clint comes skidding into the foyer, rushing past them and out the front door, and Kate has never been so relieved to follow him in her life.


	29. fuck yeah ororo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That is what the document is called, therefore that is what this chapter is called. Here's a little bit from the Ororoverse in which 'Ro delivers a verbal smackdown and Clint is a sap.

It was just a matter of time, really.

There’s a lot of history and connection between the Avengers and the X-Men, and it’s not unusual for one team to call on the other when something big is brewing. Xavier’s people are top notch, and Clint would trust any one of them at his back.

Well, maybe not Summers. Summers is a douche, and he hates Clint.

Logan kind of hates Clint, too, but only slightly more than Logan hates everyone and slightly less than most other people hate Clint, anyway.

The little personality conflicts come with the package, though, and Clint’s prepared for it. What he’s not prepared for is the sight of his daughter strolling in with the rest of them, dressed out and ready for a fight.

Ororo is only just eighteen, and she’s astonishing. She was a pretty little girl and is a striking young woman, but Clint can see the shimmer of the goddess she’s becoming. He wants simultaneously to find a throne for her and to rush her back home to her little green bedroom and her picture books.

She sees him and smiles broadly, and his heart breaks a little.

Before he can open his mouth to say “Hey there, weather girl”, however, T’Challa, who is still new to all this, bless him, does something unbelievably stupid.

“What is this?” he demands, turning to Steve. “You said we’d be assisted by warriors, not children.”

Behind Ororo, Kurt has filed in with another girl who Clint vaguely remembers is called Kitty, and the two of them exchange a look. Ororo just scowls, and Clint rolls his eyes. This is gonna be _great_.

“Some of us may be young,” Ororo says, “but that doesn’t mean we aren’t warriors.”

Steve gives her a nod, but T’Challa looks at her with an imperial glare. “Sparring with tin enemies doesn’t make you a fighter, little girl. Nor do the parlor tricks you call powers. Come back when you’re fully grown and won’t be blown away by a strong wind.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint sees Steve glance in his direction. He looks back and raises an eyebrow. Sure, he’d like to give T’Challa a kick in the ass for that, but he doesn’t need to.

A sudden cold wind whips through the room, and Ororo’s back straightens as she steps in, getting right in T’Challa’s very surprised face. “I am Ororo Munroe,” she says. “I am a child of Asgard and the daughter of Avengers. I am Storm, formed in the harbor of heroes and made into a hurricane under the guidance of visionaries. I was raised by the greatest warriors on this planet, and I will not allow myself and my friends to be insulted by a fool who lacks the sense not to mock his own allies.”

_That’s my girl,_ Clint thinks, resisting the urge to applaud into the silence that follows. T’Challa looks thunderstruck, and even some of the X-Men seem a little stunned.

After a moment, Steve clears his throat. “Panther, I think you owe our guests an apology,” and Clint knows him well enough to tell that he’s holding back a laugh.

“I….” T’Challa swallows, his eyes fixed on Ororo’s fierce and lovely face. “I misspoke, my lady. Please forgive me. I meant no offense.”

Ororo gives him a cool once-over, like she’s not sure he’s made of stern enough stuff. “I just hope your claws are sharper than your tongue,” she says. “I don’t want my fathers trusting their lives to a house cat.”

“Your… fathers?” T’Challa repeats, but she’s already shouldering past him.

Clint gives her his brightest grin, and she matches it lux-for-lux, wrapping her arms tight around him. “Hi, daddy.”

He never thought he could be so proud of anything as he is of this amazing young woman and the fact that he had anything at all to do with the hero that she is. He’s not gonna cry though. Honestly, he’s not.

“Hey there, weather girl,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”


	30. for sabinelagrande: Pepper/Natasha, green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can tell when I've done a call for prompts because there's a sudden flurry of ficlets. To join the fun [see tumblr](http://shadowen.tumblr.com/post/42956054846/story-time).

Where Natasha grew up, there was no green. Red brick buildings choked the trees, and what weeds survived were as brown and twisted as the streets whose crumbling edges they pushed through. Flowers were rare as precious stones, and grass was rarer still. She didn’t live there, anymore - wasn’t Russian, anymore - but she still couldn’t help thinking that these Americans didn’t know how good they had it, with their lush parks and warm summers and endless green fields.

The wind rustled the pages of Pepper’s book, and Natasha felt her shift as she smoothed them down. Natasha’s skin was warm from the sun, prickling from the stiff grass underneath her back. She’d been skeptical when Pepper proposed a picnic, but this, this sweet summer luxury in the middle of the thriving city, was turning out to be the best idea she’d heard all week. She stretched out, savoring the scent of dirt and growing things, and curled her bare toes into the warm, green earth.


	31. for coffeesuperhero: Clint/Coulson, somebody's backyard

Clint’s familiar with the concept of a backyard, but he’s never really understood the point of one until he discovers the hammock behind Phil’s dad’s house. It’s well-worn and smells of summers past, creaking faintly as it swings between two sycamore trees.

It’s not really meant to fit two, but that doesn’t stop them from wrestling their way into it, slotting themselves together in a jumble of limbs. Once they get settled, though, resting in the quiet suburban shade, Clint decides that there is nothing in the world better than this.

“Can we get one of these for the ‘carrier?” he asks. “We could string it up in the topside hangar.”

“I’m not sure the director would approve that,” Phil murmurs, his eyes closed against the afternoon sun, “but you’re welcome to ask.”

Clint considers it, wonders if Stark could build a hovering hammock that would just float wherever he wanted. He looks at Phil, tucked up against him on this simple sheet of canvas, and decides it doesn’t matter. This is good for now.

They’re supposed to be grilling, later, and Phil’s dad is going to teach Clint “the only right way to cook a steak”, which Clint thinks sounds a little ominous. Still, there’s not much better than good food and good company, and Clint wouldn’t dream of complaining.

In the meantime, he watches the sunshine on the sycamore leaves and listens to Phil breathe.


	32. for teatrousers: Deadpool meets Kate Bishop

“Hey, Hawk Girl!”

“It’s Hawkeye, actually.”

“Nah. Hawkguy’s the other dude. You’re Hawk Girl. Or Hawk Chick. Or Hot Chick.”

“So you’re, what? Death Drool?”

“Y’know, that’s not bad. Real evocative and stuff.”

“…Right.”

“So what’s you’re super power? Mine’s killing stuff. Also stabbing and breaking the fourth wall. Pretty sure there’s another one, too.”

“Healing factor?”

“Nope. I hate math. Almost as much as I hate those stupid non-powered hero people. Especially that one Avenger guy. What’s his name?”

“…Hawkeye?”

“Yeah, him. What a dick.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’m, uh, gonna go now.”

“Can I have a hug?”

“…No.”

“Okay.”


	33. for desi: first line meme #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From desidesidesi, for the "first line" meme on Tumblr:
> 
> "Clint didn't ever think he was afraid of heights, but his perch for this particular mission was far more precarious than any in recent memory."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I dumped anything over here, so I've got a few for you. :)

He glanced over the edge, checking his sight lines, and tried not to think about how far it really was to the ground, about center of gravity and terminal velocity. If he got his timing right and hit the target dead on, he’d be home free. If he missed….

Well, on the bright side, if he missed, it would be the last time he ever missed anything.

Taking a deep breath, Clint nocked his arrow and slowly, deliberately, drew back the string.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Here goes nothin’.”


	34. for desi: first line meme #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From desidesidesi for the "First Line" meme:
> 
> "If Phil could have one super power it would be to be able to cut his own hair."

If Phil could have one super power it would be to be able to cut his own hair.

He tried once, in high school, because dad kept taking him to the place that specialized in $5 bowl cuts, and he was bound and determined to force his straight, shapeless hair into something resembling an actual style. The result had been…. Well, the _final_ result had been his first buzz cut, accompanied by bursts of laughter from his dad.

Now, of course, he had the money and the good sense to pay a professional more than $5 to get the job done, but he’d been stuck on this op for months, in the far reaches of the world, miles away from his or any other stylist. It wouldn’t have mattered, except that he was undercover as an entrepreneur, attempting to gain access to the target, and he needed to keep up appearances.

He sighed mournfully and glared at the damp, shaggy mess on top of his head. It was getting out of hand, and something had to be done. He selected a section that seemed like a good place to start, sent up a silent prayer to the gods of style, and lifted the scissors.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

In the mirror, Phil could see Barton leaning against the door frame behind him, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“Personal grooming,” he grumbled. “I don’t suppose you have any experience with this kind of thing?”

Barton snorted. “More than you do obviously. Gimme those.” He held out his hand expectantly, and Phil passed over the scissors with some trepidation. Barton pointed to the floor beside the bathtub and commanded, “Sit.”

Phil obeyed, and Barton sat on the edge of the tub behind him, his knees pressed on either side of Phil’s shoulders. He tensed in surprise as Barton roughly tousled his hair.

“Oughta be doing this dry,” Barton said. “Wet, like this, you’re gonna wind up with weird edges.”

“My stylist does it wet,” Phil replied, unaccountably defensive.

“Your stylist has a razor and an arsenal of conditioning products.” Barton rubbed at Phil’s hair with a hand towel and added, “Also, you have a _stylist_?”

“Some of us take pride in our appearance.”

“Going after your hair with rusty kitchen scissors isn’t pride, it’s desperation.”

Barton dragged a comb through the tangles, and the familiar scrape across Phil’s scalp was somehow soothing. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the rhythm and let out a breath as he heard the quiet snip of the scissors.

“My brother used to do this for me, when we were kids,” Barton said, his voice smooth and even, meant simply for sound more than conversation. “He showed me how so I could do his. We still looked like a coupla urchins, but at least we had good hair.” He paused, moving to another part of Phil’s head, and Phil could feel the callouses on his blunt fingers. “Learned to do it myself, after a while. It’s trickier, but you do what you gotta do.”

There was no sound for a moment but the click and slide of the scissors, then Phil said, “There was this place a few blocks from my school. It was in an old building, above some kind of law office, I think.” He could still smell it, the strange notes of aftershave and copy toner mixed with the cloying odor of the barber’s cologne. Phil huffed to clear the memory and instead breathed in the close scent of Barton’s skin and clothes, so immediate and soothing. “Every three months, my dad took me there and paid this man five dollars to put a bowl on my head and make me look like an idiot.”

Barton laughed, loud and bright. “Oh, man. I’d pay to see that.”

“I’m sure there’s a picture,” Phil grumbled. “I swear military haircuts were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Until you found your _stylist_?” Barton teased. His fingers ran up the back of Phil’s neck, and Phil gave a startled shudder. Immediately, Barton’s touch vanished and Phil sensed him draw back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Phil assured him. “You just… surprised me.”

Barton chuckled, and Phil could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”

He finished in short order and smoothed Phil’s hair down with unexpected care before pushing for him to get up. Phil climbed to his feet and checked his reflection to find an almost perfect replication of his regular haircut. The taper was a little longer, the sides a little less clean, but it was otherwise exact.

“Perfect,” he told Barton, smiling. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Barton held up the scissors and gave Phil a stern look. “Now don’t let me catch you with these again.”

“Yes, sir,” Phil said wryly, and Barton laughed as he walked away. Checking his hair again, Phil gave a hum of satisfaction.

Maybe he should get Barton to do this from now on. He wondered what kind of bribe that would take.


	35. for coffeesuperhero: Clint meets Castiel (Supernatural)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me and _Supernatural_ broke up, but coffeesuperhero wanted Castiel trying to be a SHIELD agent. How am I supposed to say no to that?

“Agent Barton, may I have a word with you?”

“Director?”

“Would you mind bringing me up to speed on your training with the new agent?”

“Honestly, sir, he’s doing pretty great. Passed all his prelims. Hand-to-hand needs work, but he’s a quick learner. He’s already qualified on small arms. We’re gonna start work on precision shooting tomorrow.”

“Mmhm. And his communication skills?”

“…Sir?”

“Some of the officers are a little confused by how he’s been… phrasing his requests.”

“…Oh.”

“Mmhm.”

“Would you believe me if I said that wasn’t my fault?”

“No.”

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t think he’d actually do it?”

“No, but I’m curious as to how you convinced him that ‘God wants you to’ is how he’s supposed to say ask for things.”

“I just told him to say it once. Turns out he has a sense of humor.”

“Mmhm.”

“God wants you to think this is funny, sir.”

“No.”

“God wants you to give me the week off?”

“Barton.”

“Sorry, sir.”


	36. for allthatihavemet: Jess/Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> allthatihavemet said: "Tell me about the time when Tony walked in on Carol and Jess, hot 'n' heavy, post-battle."

It’s totally, absolutely, one hundred percent an accident.

Tony’s already decided he’s going to kill the AIM scientist who came up with this weeks ridiculous ray gun. Not that a glorified bug zapper could so much as scratch his precious, glorious, gorgeous suit, but it’s got the release mechanisms acting buggy and he’s got to fix it before it drives him nuts.

He knows for a fact that there’s a StarkTool - like a multi-tool but so much cooler - stashed in the credenza on this hallway. He just needs to grab it and make some quick tweaks before he heads to the lab for a full calibration.

That’s it. Honest. And he’s wearing the damn armor, so they really should be able to hear him coming.

It’s just that he hears Jessica coming, first.

Carol’s got her pinned up against a door, like they were trying for the room and didn’t quite make it. They’re still in uniform, battered and soot-streaked, and Tony can see the rips in the fabric from where Carol went shoulder-to-shoulder with a crashing helicopter. Jessica’s mask is pushed away, her hair tangled and her eyes screwed shut, and Carol’s hand is…. Okay, wow. Didn’t know Jess’s suit had an opening there. New information.

That sound, though. That is definitely the sound of a super-powered lady in the middle of a fantastic orgasm. For the first time in his life, Tony does the sensible thing and backs away. Quickly.

He’s gonna have to find another tool, though, because now he really needs to get out of this armor.


End file.
